


should've just walked

by reincarnivore



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Drunk Dubcon, Edging, M/M, Voyeurism, might be more noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28849365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reincarnivore/pseuds/reincarnivore
Summary: ansem is infatuated. that can make a man make mistakes.(there's some pining and there there's porn.)
Relationships: Ansem the Wise | DiZ/Xehanort
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	should've just walked

Ansem could tell you the first time Xehanort had caught his eye, or rather, his heart. It had to have been around six- no, seven months since the young man had fallen in from some other world onto Ansem's castle steps, scooped up in the arms of his guards and tucked away to sleep off his apparent trauma. Honestly, Ansem might admit he had felt the first inklings of  _ something  _ for him as he lay there, uncomfortably asleep. It should have also been Ansem's first warning, too, as Xehanort tossed and turned, his expression stiff with distaste for his current existence no matter how much they cared over him and his injuries. Instead, Ansem thought he was pitiful enough to  _ care _ for. For weeks he had sparsely spoken but his name, but Ansem relished in the revealing moments as Xehanort began to awaken, even as his memory evaded them.

But, to seven months from then. Xehanort sits outside the castle walls, nestled on the edging of the expansive garden that surrounds it. To his side sits Ansem's youngest little scientist; though hardly more than a boy, Ansem knows too well what endless calculations stew along in Ienzo’s mind. It seems Xehanort does as well, and though the memory-less man still often sits in that same sleepy discomfort due to his lackluster health, Ansem can see the similar cogs of intelligence between the empty voids of his mind. 

Standing from afar and barely obscured by the stone walls surrounding his castle, Ansem does not interrupt them, at least not immediately. From this angle, he can barely see Xehanort's seemingly bemused expression; his lips loosely frowning, a head tilted just barely towards the child as he, very quietly, prattles on about something. Ansem notes to himself how often Xehanort looks simply disassociated from a situation, but only a few times made the mistake of thinking he wasn’t listening. Ienzo is quiet, but becomes wordy very quickly when he feels understood, and he too had learned well that Xehanort’s expression is often deceiving. Xehanort's blinks are slow and methodical as he listens- and then once again comes a moment Ansem feels that strange little tug in the corners of his heart. Xehanort's hands are folded gently in his lap, an index finger idly stroking across the taut tendons of his knuckles, his legs barely crossed at the calves. Well now, he looks quite charming there with Ienzo's astute attention, the both of them framed between the flowers, a chorus of whites and blues and golds- and browns- but no, that is the sharp dart of Xehanort's eyes. They flick up from the foliage to stare at his caretaker watching from afar, the colours of the surrounding greenery ebbing away into the unknown abyss of his gaze. Ienzo still doesn't notice his teacher nearby, and continues on his heated but quiet ramblings, even as Xehanort tilts his head towards the garden wall and the man lingering now anxiously behind it. Ansem struggles not to stiffen his spine under the pressure of his eyes, however. Xehanort’s expression remains so plain, so relaxed, even as the haunting dark of his iris stares a hole through his chest. It's almost ominous, but in a way that catches Ansem unfamiliarity entranced by, like catching an exotic bird simply resting in the sun, its black feathers refracting shining cool tones in a coming twilight. He could walk away at this point to leave them to their little conversation, but there's the slightest cock of Xehanort’s head and upturn of his eyebrow that beckons his caretaker to interrupt.

"Oh, don't look so bored, Xehanort," he speaks as he invitedly paces towards them. Ienzo shuts it with an immediate squeak, eyes wide and peering between the wisps of hair that block his face. He darts to look between the two of them, but finally notices that Xehanort had been staring over at Ansem for a while now.

"I would never be  _ bored _ , Master," Xehanort rasps, a hand gently rising from its place to pet delicately over the boy’s head, toying with those unruly strands. "Ienzo, you would certainly tell me if you thought I was bored, yes?" Ienzo nods his head eagerly, but shifts away from Xehanort's petting until he calmly places his hands back in his lap. "I am just tired, is all,” Xehanort retorts, just barely shrugging a shoulder. 

Ansem chuffs to that, hands leveling behind his back as he looks them both over. "But I suppose the fresh air is better than otherwise?"

"Of course, Master. Not to begrudge your castle, as it's not as if the air in there is stale, but the flowers outside smell in a way that cannot be replicated. I almost feel as if they'd remind me of somewhere," and he softly, painfully laughs, eyes lidding. " Were you on a walk yourself?" He asks without opening them again, his expression settling almost as if he would drift to sleep, the slightest movement of his eyes beneath the lids while he visualizes that forgotten place.

"I was, but with no particular aim,” Ansem responds, leaning over just slightly to peer at Xehanort’s sleepiness, his expression softening greatly when he feels he isn’t being watched. Ienzo notices his caretaker relax, tilting his head curious but saying nothing. It’s strange to see Ansem the Wise so vulnerable looking, and doesn’t want to ruin the moment. “I feel as if you will know by now I will offer you to join me to get ice cream?"

Xehanort's eyes open nowhere near as softly as they had closed, taking a moment to flick from where he had been staring at the ground, to Ienzo at his side. "Well? Could we spare some moment's interlude for indulgence?"

Ienzo's lips purse in thought- he had been going over something in particular, but he also cannot say no to ice cream. He's up before Xehanort is, and even as he attempts to rise, needs a hand to get on his feet. Though his mind is sharp, his body is recovering from some kind of ordeal not any of them know. Ansem might reflect later how much he appreciated the handicap while it lasted.

It's a few months later when Ansem has Xehanort up on his feet and helping around his laboratory. His work ethic is slow but helpful, eager even, and even better, he is unperturbed to the research at hand. Though Ansem generally keeps himself ethical, there are a few choice subjects that the disagreeable may not enjoy. He was already dealing with those two boys from town harassing his guards- though he somewhat solved that problem by inviting one of them to be an errand boy, and even more when Xehanort seems to allure the young Isa for whatever reason. He thinks maybe, behind his back, he was letting the two boys visit their 'friend' in the basement, but as long as she remains there when he comes to prod into the shattered workings of her mind, Ansem will let it slide. Xehanort is in similar straits in his memory still, but somehow retains all his consciousness, and again Ansem thinks about how his existence catches the older man so interested.

He shies away from personal meetings, Ansem finds, but not in a way that makes him think Xehanort is nervous, but rather unsure of himself. Not once has his equations lead them astray, when he decides assured to give them correctly. However, between his moments of ominous clarity, Xehanort breaks into memory that he might've been unsure of friendship in his past. He is as kind as ever to the inhabitants of Radiant Garden, but never lets them terribly close. Only Ansem himself gets anywhere near that far reached goal of friendship, and he presses every moment he can to get his newest apprentice in his office, alone.

Every time he tries to get a good look at him, he's caught in the act. The initial moment has him staring down his Master's gaze, and at first Ansem would back down, but he finds instead if he stares back, Xehanort's resolve falters, and his eyes trail down to the paperwork ahead of him with the softest cant of his head. Ansem thinks he might enjoy the shier side of him more than he should, but equally wonders why he did not seem so when he had first arrived.

The one time he had caught him fully unaware, Ansem finds Xehanort and the most unruly of his guards, Braig, chatting in the hallway. He would take a thought to wonder why Xehanort was giving him any of his time of day, and nearly stomps ahead to bark the brash man away from his poor apprentice, but stops when he hears them speak.

" And why're you playing so nice with ol' Ansem, huh? Looking all doll-ish and cute."

"Did you think perhaps I'm not playing nice with him, simply playing mean with you?" Xehanort responds immediately, with a tenor to his voice Ansem was wholly unfamiliar with. 

"After all we've been through, I'm shaken! I know  _ this _ is the real you. Why the cold shoulder-" Ansem hears the sound of fabric shoved, and Braig loosing a low, rasping laugh.

"No matter how many times you say it- I don't know you, and I don't know what you want from me. If you did know me from before- you were so insignificant, my heart does not pulse to remind me. If you do know me- you should be telling Master Ansem, not me."

" And why not! It's your memory. Why don't you tell him yourself~? Or are you playing so coy that he'll pity you enough to keep helping you, hmn? Even if you give him nothing."

"I do not give him nothing," Ansem barely hears Xehanort hiss- and then has him sharply turning to flee when he hears the aggravated footsteps approaching.

Xehanort ducks his head into Ansem's office a few hours later, eyes half-lidded and weary. "Master Ansem?"

He tries to play it off smoothly, slowly looking up from his work, "Yes, my student?"

"Ah…" For once, his gaze remains fixed to the floor.

A long silence lingers while Ansem offers him to collect his thoughts, but speaks when Xehanort's mouth shuts. "Do you need to come back later?"

"No-, I," he stammers, shuffling inside of the room with an armful of books and papers. "I just had a thought, but I am… less sure of it, than usual." He remains standing by the door, however, but his gaze slowly moves up Ansem's desk and to the man at hand. They have their little staring contest, and despite the nervousness of his words and his posture, Xehanort's umber void splits the pale of the walls around him. For once, his gaze never truly falters, and so Ansem tries to keep his best on guard. It is incredibly hard to hold staring down the pierce of his gaze when the rest of the young man is fawning. 

"You needn't worry I might scorn you for failure. I would regret to be some person in your memory who would torment you to fail,” Ansem chooses his words carefully, because he is fairly certain someone in Xehanort's past had cursed him for his lacking. A perfectionist, this poor young man has become.

"I-, yes," he nods, carefully stepping towards Ansem's desk, and gently setting his work down. "I had a thought,  _ of course I had _ ," Xehanort mumbles to himself a moment, "that much of your research on the chained memories of a heart lay in those memories bound by light."

"Yes, those memories formed in light are often the strongest and most binding..?"

"Often," he repeats with a gesture of his hand, "but not always."

"To lend oneself to darkness, even for the pursuit of knowledge, is a very careful task," Ansem speaks low in his throat, offering his student a very sharp look.

"No, I know- it would never be the task for one man. But your laboratory grows every day, and while the research is strenuous and, well, dangerous, it seems odd to me to neglect it as meritless." Despite the wavering in his tone, Xehanort speaks his mind clearly, posture returning as he comforts himself in his own spoken word. He looks from the books to his Master's hands, and levels there with the barest wrinkle between his brow.

A silence passes as Ansem's thoughts drift. "I have found myself occasionally wondering if research has stagnated due to my apprehension, or genuine disability to handle the task on my own. So, your thoughts are not without logic, and I will think them over, if you'd mind the wait."

"O-oh, of course I would not mind the wait, Master," Xehanort swallows rough and nods, casually trailing a finger over his offered books. Ansem's library is expansive, and he knows well what things his newest student had chosen for him to peruse. One's he had gone over time and time again before, and had long since left to neglect. How the soft seeming nature of his student has Ansem falling. The water laps at his feet, but Xehanort's warm voice fades the sounds of it away in a comfortable drumming in his ears.

  
  
  
  


Despite knowing well how quickly and dangerously the allure of darkness can become, Ansem is too distracted by the allure of his student, even to see that, perhaps, the infatuation is one in the same. Long nights spent in his office, chatting endlessly about the things that could be explored, opened, if they could wrap their heads around the minutia of it all. Ansem nearly melts when one night after a few drinks, Xehanort  _ laughs _ , his soft voice echoing in the stone halls while they walked. Over a year now they had spent, and Xehanort  _ laughs _ , forgets for a moment about the sorry state of himself, of his memory, of his history- but it all crashes down in a moment when his face falls again, a soft pained smile on his lips with the barest crease of his eyebrows. Ansem can't help but wrap a loose arm around him, and in even more unusualities, his student does not protest. Without a second thought, he pulls them back into his office, though Xehanort produces the most timid of peeps at the sudden force.

It’s late enough into the night that Ansem sees minimal risk of him being caught- not to mention as he leads Xehanort inside, he reaches behind to click the locks on his massive doors shut. It isn’t the first time Ansem had locked them up in here alone, though it was normally to keep all interruption at bay, and with how inebriated they both seemed, Xehanort doubted there was anymore research to be done today. “Master Ansem?” He questions quietly, wobbling back in the darkness to find his chair with a heavy plop of his weight. Ansem lingers uncomfortably long at his doorway, however, mulling over his thoughts in an eerie silence, and when he finally slowly turns around, Xehanort’s eyes are closed, relaxed back limp in his chair. Perhaps they’d drank a bit too much tonight. He can feel it in his own legs, even, his footsteps dragging across the carpet no matter how hard he tried to remain discreet. Once he’s looming over his student’s relaxed form, a single brown eye opens to peer into the darkness. A quiet, confused ‘hmn?’, but it’s cut off sharply when a bare hand cups the underside of his jaw. Both eyes dart open to look at the offending fingers, but a thumb is trailing across the wet slit of his mouth, prying away his bottom lip before he can think to protest. 

Ansem is allured by every inch of him, really, but with how soft spoken his student tends to be, he hardly gets a look behind his lips. He pushes up against the slack of them until he spots a glisten of white beneath, Xehanort’s jaw barely parting anxiously at the intrusion. He’s not done, however, and takes a long moment to pull up at the top lip to spot his fangs, and while they’re not that much more prominent than any other, it’s enough to have Ansem’s attention. Since he’s offering a parting, that thumb dips into the barest separation of his teeth, and without verbal prompting, Xehanort carefully drops his jaw until that thumb is sinking into the wet of his mouth. Ansem feels his tongue retract as first, but can’t do much to escape his touch, and impatiently it falls back to press against the flat of his thumb. He can’t assume it tastes good, but it can’t taste too terrible, than his student wouldn’t be near eagerly lapping at the intrusion. He’s starting to drool, however, a slippery strand of saliva dripping past his lips and down his chin, pulling up from his skin when Ansem’s hand retreats.

There’s a moment of thankfulness to the large chair he keeps stocked for comfort in his office, because while he could awkwardly lean down to kiss him, it would be that aforementioned awkward. Instead, Ansem pulls the hem of his unfortunately long robes up and out of his way, settling down on Xehanort’s oh too inviting lap. He has no fears of crushing the man beneath him- and even more so when his hands wander up Xehanort’s chest, to that well built flat of muscles flexing stiff beneath his touch. It’s the same thought that has him unconcerned whether or not Xehanort is enjoying himself, as he could easily toss him to the ground without a second thought. They had been drinking the same aged whiskey before, so his mouth tastes much like his own, but when his tongue snakes eagly past Xehanort’s teeth where his thumb had been playing earlier, there is something new and strange at the back of his throat. Something acrid and bitter- not vomit, Ansem very quickly specifies, but something else he might have smelled some time ago. If he hadn’t been drinking so much earlier, he might question the strange taste lurking beneath Xehanort’s teeth, but equally, if he hadn’t been so drunk he wouldn’t be in the position to taste at all. 

It catches Ansem off guard when gloved hands work their way into his shirt, deftly peeling back the straps of his robes until a sliver of bear skin appears, until he can feel himself pressed hard against the front of his pants. As much as he doesn’t expect his student to be so eager, he also doesn’t want to begrudge it. However, he does stop his touching there, and their sloppy makeout stutters to an anxious stop, Xehanort pulling back his head with a strangled noise. Ansem had been caught up in the high of the moment, in the addicting taste of his mouth, his eyes clamped shut, but when the sensation of lips leave his, he’s jolted back to reality. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted to the sight of Xehanort so completely unalike himself, his face twisted in anxious regret, his eyes meeting his master’s for a fraction of a second before peeling off to the side towards the shut and locked doors. Slowly, Ansem’s gaze follows, and he speaks in a rasping hush, “No one will come.”

What does he mean by that? He spoke without thinking- he must mean, ‘no one will come to embarrass them’, but he also thinks he might mean no one will come to stop him. If he wasn’t so drunk, if he wasn’t so- something, that acrid taste in his mouth comes at him like a haze; he stifles a cough in his throat, shaking out his head, but it sinks deep into his core. Looking back to Xehanort, his student still won’t look him in the eyes, but that only seems to make it more… _ fun _ . It shouldn’t make it fun, but it is, and Ansem sharply reaches down to fully untuck the bottom of Xehanort’s shirt. The other man finally protests to this, awkwardly gripping at Ansem’s wrists, but he is not dislodged. He’s not sure where the strength comes from, but he doesn’t question it, rather seeing that sweaty skin flush beneath him. Calloused hands ply up his soft, dark skin, over to the white scar that flares like a star across where his heart lay beneath. Ansem is very familiar with that scar, safely assuming it’s the injury that causes Xehanort’s issues, but has never had the chance to worship so eagerly. He slips down Xehanort’s lap until his knees hit the floor, just so he can reach with his tongue, dragging it up the numb flesh there, much to Xehanort’s squirming distaste. His hands find purchase up his chest, finding interest in cupping those firm pecs he’d only hoped to see one day, let alone grope. A thumb brushes over a nipple, it having already stiffened from the attention the rest of his body was receiving. He tastes like sweat now, and Ansem relishes in that salty, alcoholic taste. They really had drank too much tonight, which is perhaps why Xehanort can hardly put up a fight despite, from what he can very obviously feel now, the man being built like a horse. Idly, to his thoughts of horsehood, Ansem’s eyes flick open again to peer at the crotch pressed into his chest. From the moment’s pause, Xehanort swallows roughly, his hips unconsciously pushing up from his chair, but it serves to show his mentor the obvious swell between his legs. Again, Ansem readjusts his position, his palms dragging down from where he had pushed up Xehanort’s shirt until they rest at the fly of his pants.

Any fuel to protest flares and burns out as quickly as it comes- a momentary stifled yelp and squirm when Ansem’s hand gropes hard over his contained self, but he’s forced back down to sitting when both hands roughly grip fingers into the waist of his pants and tug. It serves to pull them just that half inch down until the tightest part constricts uncomfortably against his half-hard erection, and roots him in fear to the chair enough that the next moment he notices, Ansem has his fly completely down. He wastes no time freeing Xehanort from his pants, underwear, the cool air of the room greeting him for a fleeting moment before Ansem has him sinking into the warmth of his mouth.

There’s another short fire when a hand weakly reaches and pushes back on Ansem’s forehead; he warbles, “M-master-,” but it dies on his lips to uncontainable moans when a sharp pleasure overtakes him. Oohhh, does Ansem relish in those noises, forbidden little tunes that greet him unabated by the alcohol running through him. At least for a moment, before his student quickly pulls up an arm to stuff into his own mouth, chewing at his skin to balance the soft tongue prying pleasure from his core. As much as Ansem would like to protest, he’s far more interested in the taste of him, still, leveling both palms over Xehanort’s hips to sturdy him while he more than eagerly sucks him off. The salt of his sweat still lingers in his mouth, but it’s paired perfectly by beads of precum that join in good time. Ansem cannot make the full length of him, barely able to contain the girth let alone the length, but as close as he can get without choking the life out of himself, he smells a deep scent held in the berth of his underwear. Clean, for sure, the soap he uses lingers from each nook and cranny of his body, but none so strongly mixed with the scent of  _ him _ than here. That thick scent musky sweat, a birchwood overtone that blends in so perfectly  _ Xehanort  _ he can see him beautifully laid across his office chair through firmly closed eyes.

Ansem nearly forgets to stop until the telltale sounds of Xehanort’s climax reach his ears. As much as he more than thoroughly enjoys the scents and tastes of his student while he can have them, it’s a bit too soon for it to be over. If he made a pitiful noise when Ansem had started, he sounds absolutely wretched when Ansem stops, letting him fall hard, red and aggravated to the soft skin of his belly. A wet trail of saliva and precum beads and stretches when Xehanort flexes uncomfortably, but when he tries to reach for himself, Ansem blocks him off with a forearm. Xehanort nearly cries to that, uselessly whacking at his deflections for a moment before exhaustedly laying prone back into his chair, waiting for his master to decide what was next.

Ansem rises with a gruff noise, somewhat winded himself, but far too eager to let that get ahold of him. He hardly notices Xehanort’s discerning gaze following his movement, that familiar umber void watching in a vacancy completely unalike his squirming, frustrated self lays in his chair. But, he  _ does _ notice. He hates the way he looks at him now, it breaks whatever powerplay he was getting high off of. With a sharp tugging, he snags one of Xehanort’s arms, unnaturally hefting his weight to standing. Xehanort is incredibly unwieldy on his feet, stumbling from the numbness of his thighs and the dizziness overtaking his general senses, but he isn’t standing for long before Ansem roughly shoves him in the direction of his massive desk. Flopping uselessly over the front of it , Xehanort’s belly slams with a wet thud into the wooden top where his shirt was still uncomfortably pulled up to his armpits. He tries to push up his weight immediately, but a firm hand presses between his shoulder blades until the squirms stop again, and he lays defeatedly prone against Ansem’s desk. He settles for whining there, unconsciously crossing his legs beneath him as it aches in rough pulses between his thighs. 

Not bare enough yet, though, and Ansem tugs his pants down until every inch of his ass is laid bare for the shadows to see. Xehanort’s eyes are off him in this position, but something still has Ansem’s hackles raised. Maybe it’s that insufferable whining he’s getting up to now, the way he curls up on himself, but when Ansem pries up Xehanort’s back and reveals each inch of hidden flesh beneath his shirt, he’s caught with that same wanton infatuation he had every day simply looking at his face. Each taut muscle laying pliant beneath his grasp catches his heart so fondly, it tugs at his chest, rips at him, sinks its blackened teeth into the offered meat of it. Ansem refuses to notice his heart being eaten by his infatuation- or by something else, now, as his hands wander greedily against his back, crawling down his front, wrenching a wet nipple between his fingers just to make him squirm beneath. 

He sates his lust with each wandering grope of skin, but brings his elation to light when an over eager reaching presses his woefully ignored self to the crux of Xehanort’s ass. Ansem wasn’t so sure he was ready for that when he has started this, happy at first just to touch and taste and smell every inch of him- but he thinks, since Xehanort lays so obedient and pretty for him across his desk, he is owed the take him in any way he might want. Even when he moves away, rounding around his desk, Xehanort does not move, despondent to resist. Ansem is not entirely sure why he continues to lay there and take it, as it can’t all be the alcohol pumping between them, but can’t take the time to question it. Not when he’s busy rummaging through his desk, slowly trailing back around, Xehanort flinches when that warm hand meets the sweat cooling skin of his shoulder. It pools between the clenched muscles of his back, and when Ansem leans down to eagerly lap up his sweat, his tongue moves in time with a slicked finger pressing into his entrance. Again, Xehanort yelps to that, begging even, “Master- wait, please don’t- I can’t, I never- ahh!” But he is roughly cut off when two incredibly slick but still unprepared fingers push past a ring of uninterested flesh. Still, does Xehanort lay there, weakly stifling back his whimpers as his master pushes him with one arm down into his desk while the other takes to unkindly penetrating his unpracticed insides. It hurts, Ansem knows it does, but he’s overtaken with lust, with the sounds of wet slopping from his over-lubricated fingers sticking to the skin of his ass, the suction of his hole against the rapid thrusting of his fingers. As Xehanort’s breath quickens beneath him from the pain, from _ something else.  _ His leg hikes up pathetically against his will, pressing to Ansem’s thigh, but does not dislodge him. Soon, his entrance loosens from the excessive pressure, from the way he curls his fingers just right to squeak cries of pleasure between restrained sobs of distaste. It brings it all back to momentary pain when a third makes its way inside, but before Ansem even lets his student get too used to that, he’s too eager to skip steps. 

There’s no warning when something softer but bigger meets up with his abused hole, Xehanort’s neck cranes uncomfortably with an expression struck with confusion and fear before a cry breaks shrill from his throat. Ansem holds him steady at the hips, bucking sharp and shallow each inch of his relatively average self into the warmest and tightest place he can ever remember being. He looks back down to Xehanort again, taking in the most lovely of sights of him laying so obediently despite the obvious discomfort. His gaze never makes it back enough to pierce him, but Ansem’s thrusting is stifled when Xehanort warbles, “I- something, someone is… “ Weakly, Xehanort raises his head to look around the darkness of his office.

Ansem had been feeling watched before. Though he spends a few seconds worrying himself into where he had hilted deep in Xehanort’s entrance, Ansem does deign to look around as well- and sure enough, there is a figure beneath the shadows nearby. It’s also obviously enjoying itself to the sight it’s been given so graciously, its,  _ his _ , muted breath overshadowed by Xehanort’s crying. Ansem isn’t sure he likes being watched- or rather, he isn’t sure he likes  _ Xehanort _ being watched, because in this moment, his student is no one but  _ his _ . But, then again, who here is balls deep while the other jacks off in the shadows like some sort of vagrant. Immediately, Ansem even knows who it is, almost opens his mouth to bark about the teleporter making himself an endless pain, but looks down again to see the barest edge of Xehanort’s umber gaze piercing through him. He seems to think the interruption will save him. Instead, Ansem reaches down with a firm grip to the back of Xehanort’s head, a fistful of pale silver strands jerking him with a yelp back forward facing.

Xehanort again has a few good moans break loud and free from between his lips before an arm can wriggle free of its place beneath his body to mute him between the already bruised, chewed on skin of his forearm. Again, Ansem wants to dislodge his arm, force his obsession to cry out his pleasure into the open air of the night, let that interloper know who has all of Xehanort’s attention now, but not as much as he wants to pound out of every inch of his bottled up infatuation. He doesn’t even need to hear him crying, Xehanort makes himself enough of a show for the both of them in the way he struggles, legs squirming beneath him as the pain does abate into wholly unwanted pleasure, the slicked intrusion rubbing up where he had no recollection of exploring, but intimately knew he might once wanted. A puddle drips pathetically between their legs onto the carpet beneath, catching into the lip of his pants and underwear still gripped taut against the meat of his thighs. “M-master, please, please, I can’t, I ca-, can’t, I-” words spill out wet and muffled from the split slicked skin of his arm, his other limb pathetically pushing up and slipping against the papers littered across his desk as sensation coils up inside of him with each thrust. He repeats it like a mantra, not like he truly expects his begging to stop him, but out of an unconscious desperation, a desperation for  _ something _ . The clench of his insides has Ansem caught up in overwhelming pleasure, and with a few last unsturdy thrusts, hilts firmly to rope cum deep into his insides. Xehanort nearly feels each gush of fluid warming the pain-stricken straits of his hole, but with the repetitive pleasure of his master’s thrusts abating, he cries out pathetically as he’s edged to oblivion once again, the height of his own climax left dangling millimeters away from the end. His arms flail out uncomfortably when he’s unable to reach himself, either, pressed flush to Ansem’s desk, his poor neglected self bouncing untouched beneath the edge of the desk. His master is unapologetically busy chasing his own pleasure, though, groaning when Xehanort moans and clenches near painfully around him. He doesn’t even notice Xehanort’s overwhelming displeasure until the man is completely prone and eerily  _ silent  _ beneath him. Since he’d been moaning and crying the entire time, the sudden silence was incredibly stark, only Ansem’s own rough breath and the vouyer’s low, rasping laughter in the distance.

He hadn’t hoped to… completely defeat him. He’s still breathing, at least, but it’s deep and contained, each breath filling his lungs to their fullest before loosely escaping past still wet lips. When Ansem pulls out, he doesn’t expect him to move so suddenly, but with a kick of his legs, Xehanort flips onto his back. 

He expects that familiar umber to split the room, but Ansem is wholly unprepared to see faintly glowing golden eyes peering at him from the darkness. There’s a plain look to his face incredibly unalike the cacophony of whining he was up too earlier; Ansem can only take a careful step backwards at the sudden change in demeanor. Since his master seems interested in continuing to leave him hanging, a hand wanders down his chest to slowly stroke as his neglected self, before his mouth opens to speak. 

“Darkness is an... interesting thing, isn’t it,” his voice is low and foreboding, foreign to Ansem, even in the way Xehanort spoke harshly to Braig in the hallways. “It can make someone take and take and _ take _ . But it brought you the power to do so, too, didn’t it.” His words are tilted with the sneaking pleasure quickly building in his core again, and his eyes squeeze shut with an amused wanton to his face as his legs curl up beneath him- as much as they can still restrained by the waist of his pants. “I don’t blame y-you- aah~!… haaa,” he’s interrupted by himself when one final wet tug of his skin has him painting up the front of his chest white thick strands. It pools deep into the root of his belly, his legs clenching with each pump his body gifts him with. Each clench has Ansem’s given load squeezing out of his insides too, and he can see it dripping down the crux of his ass and joining the puddle of fluids already pooling on the carpet. “But you might want to be  _ more careful _ .”

“... Who are you,” Ansem barely manages to rasp, the weight of his body overtaking him as the strength he’d licked out the back of Xehanort’s throat leaves him. He thumps back into the chair they were in earlier, wheezing in sudden distress. 

Xehanort peers over the crux of his stomach, gold eye still glinting in the darkness. “Xehanort. Who else, Master?” He taunts him, a smile faintly crawling across his face, before he rests back down on his desk, growing again entirely limp.

Xehanort remembers what happened the night before- at least, up until a point. His eyes are again that soft brown as they always were, but they do not move to meet his master’s. Ansem would almost think he’d hallucinated the end there, but after pinning Braig in a hallway- his guard laments to agree. Something about Xehanort had changed for just a moment. His memories, reached, in a moment of pure darkness.

Ansem is more than embarrassed. “Why didn’t you stop me.”

“I-, I didn’t… I don’t know,” he mumbles in return, idly shuffling a handful of papers away. Despite the trauma of it, his student wasn’t directly shy away from him- though completely understandably, he did not want to be touched. “I don’t… what would you do to me if I said no..?”

“... Nothing, Xehanort- and that wasn’t even… I mean, it was…  _ me _ …”

He flips open a page of a book, tired eyes peering over the words he memorized there. “Darkness is like an infection, just as you said.”

But it had unlocked his memory, just as Xehanort had suspected it would.


End file.
